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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723380">To Sleep, Perchance to Dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze'>TheseusInTheMaze</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Humans and Their Quaint Little Hangups [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Consensual Somnophilia, Emotional Vulnerability, F/F, Rimming, Telepathy, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:40:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’re miles away, you are,” the Doctor said, and she gently tapped Yaz’s forehead with the tip of one finger. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Yaz jolted back to herself. “Sorry,” she said. “Spaced out a bit.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Well, you have been traveling in space,” the Doctor said, her voice teasing. “Have you been getting enough sleep?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>That shouldn’t have made Yaz blush quite so hard. But soldier on.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Humans and Their Quaint Little Hangups [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Sleep, Perchance to Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As promised, a sequel to <i>All Choked Up</i>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Doctor?” Yaz had been rehearsing what she was going to say for almost five minutes, echoing over and over again in her head. It really was a good thing that the Doctor got so absorbed in whatever it was she was reading, or she might have commented on the slightly tense silence. </p>
<p>	“Mm?” The Doctor looked down. She’d been petting Yaz’s hair as she read her book about… the history of aviation? Yaz couldn’t tell, reading this upside down, and she hadn’t been paying much attention. </p>
<p>	“Remember when… um, when you said that you wanted to hear more about what… the kinds of things I like?” Yaz ran the pads of her fingers across the blunt edges of her fingernails, so she didn’t have to think about what she was doing with her hands. Why was she so embarrassed about this? She’d told the Doctor at least one of her other weird fantasies. How was this any different?</p>
<p>	… Although now that Yaz thought about it, being choked wasn’t that weird of a kink, was it? God knew it showed up in a lot of mainstream porn. </p>
<p>	But also now that she thought about it, the Doctor had mentioned that humans had “a lot of hang ups,” which meant that presumably she didn’t. Although would this be viewed as a hang up, or just an assault to common decency?</p>
<p>	“You’re miles away, you are,” the Doctor said, and she gently tapped Yaz’s forehead with the tip of one finger. </p>
<p>	Yaz jolted back to herself. “Sorry,” she said. “Spaced out a bit.”</p>
<p>	“Well, you have been traveling in space,” the Doctor said, her voice teasing. “Have you been getting enough sleep?” </p>
<p>	That shouldn’t have made Yaz blush quite so hard. But soldier on. Okay. “Um. Do you… d’you remember when you said you wanted me to share more… fantasy type things?”</p>
<p>		"Mmm?" The Doctor sounded interested. That was the important part, right? And she'd said that she didn't really <i>get</i> human hang ups. So this was all fine. Totally fine. </p>
<p>	"I... would you ever want to... I mean, it's weird, obviously, but -"</p>
<p>	The Doctor covered Yaz's mouth with one hand, and she was wrinkling her nose up. She looked amused. "How about we skip the part where you worry about me judging you for something being weird, and you just assume that I've heard it before," she told Yaz. </p>
<p>	Yaz's cheeks were getting hotter, and she pressed her thighs together, her toes curling. "Sorry," she said, her voice muffled.</p>
<p>	"It's okay," said the Doctor. "So what new perversity are you going to wow me with?"</p>
<p>	Yaz stayed lying down, and she stretched her legs, pointing her toes and rolling her ankles so that she could keep her eyes on <i>that</i>, and not at the Doctor's face. "I was thinking... how much I like it when you touch me. And how I'd like you to touch me whenever you wanted. Whether I was... whether I <i>appeared</i> receptive to it, or not." </p>
<p>	The Doctor frowned. "What, like... groping you at random?"</p>
<p>	"If you wanted to," Yaz said quickly. "Even if I was asleep, if you... wanted to." She paused, and then she looked up at the Doctor. </p>
<p>	"You'd be alright with me touching you while you were asleep?" The Doctor's eyebrows were drawing together. </p>
<p>	Maybe she was being too subtle. </p>
<p>	"I want you to touch me. While I'm asleep. Sexually." Yaz held her breath, waited for the argument. The Doctor would probably be against it, have all of the arguments that she'd seen people making online about that sort of thing, since the Doctor was so morally upright, and she would -</p>
<p>	"We might have to get a little creative with the telepathy," the Doctor said, and her voice was thoughtful now. "Maybe some kind of special signal."</p>
<p>	"Special... signal," Yaz said. Why was she even surprised? She'd mentioned that she'd be interested in choking, and the Doctor had pinned her to a wall by the throat and made her come in her trousers. Of course she jumped right into it.</p>
<p>	"Definitely," the Doctor said earnestly. "So what kind of thing were you thinking about?"</p>
<p>	"Well," said Yaz. "Um." </p>
<p>* * * </p>
<p>	Yaz lay face up in her bed on the TARDIS, and she tried to fall asleep. She'd never been particularly good at that - she'd had pretty bad insomnia growing up, and as an adult she mostly relied on being tuckered out from her various adventures to knock her out. When she and the Doctor were negotiating... well, all of this, she'd suggested sleeping pills, although the Doctor had vetoed that pretty quickly.</p>
<p>	<i>"I can do you a relaxing tea,"</i> the Doctor had said, and Yaz had agreed to go along with that, because it couldn't hurt, right? The tea had smelled like lavender and tasted faintly like green stuff, but she didn't feel any different. </p>
<p>	The bed was comfortable, the room was at the right temperature, the lights were perfectly dimmed... it was, in theory, everything she needed to get to sleep. And yet. </p>
<p>	Her heart was beating very loudly in her ears, and she was entirely too aware of her own breathing. She kicked her blankets down around her ankles, then pulled them back as the air drifted across her bare calves. She didn't even know if they were <i>doing</i> it tonight, so why was she so on edge? She'd been just as antsy the night before, and if nothing happened tonight, she'd probably be just as antsy tomorrow night.</p>
<p>	Maybe the Doctor wasn't ever going to do anything, and she just liked watching how desperate Yaz was getting. She'd been grinning, when she caught Yaz squirming in her seat at dinner, or shifting her position as the four of them stood with their hands tied over their heads, waiting for the Doctor to explain that really, this was all a great big misunderstanding. </p>
<p>	Yaz sighed, and rolled onto her stomach. She pulled her blanket up higher, giving up on looking alluring and focusing on comfort. She was wearing the pajamas they'd agreed on as a signal, she'd left the ribbon tied around the door handle, was there really anything else she could do, short of asking the Doctor to do it right there and then? </p>
<p>	No, she couldn't do that. That would ruin the spirit of the whole thing.</p>
<p>	Yaz sighed again, and she let her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evened out, and she slowly sank down into the velvety darkness of sleep. </p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>	Yaz didn't think she was dreaming. </p>
<p>	Usually, when she was dreaming, something was happening. It might not have been <i>much</i> of something, but it wasn't just her floating in the blank void of sleep. She was... aware of herself, sort of. She knew there was a "self" to be aware of, because whatever it was that was doing the sensing was aware of the Doctor.</p>
<p>	It wasn't the Doctor herself - she couldn't see anything, and didn't seem to need to. She just knew that the Doctor was nearby, and close in a way that she wasn't used to. There was a sensation of being touched, but it was as if her <i>mind</i> was being touched, not her body. Like some great benevolent force was running a gentle finger along her thoughts, tracing the pathways of her fantasies, her daydreams. </p>
<p>	<i>She mentioned telepathy</i>, thought some slightly more coherent part of Yaz's mind, and there was a flash in her mind, an image of the Doctor between her thighs, the sense memory of the Doctor's tongue (cooler than a human's tongue, but still so warm) dragging across her clit. She was gradually falling into wakefulness, but still in that sleepy, suspended space. She was... tangentially aware of her body, the warmth of her bed, the softness of the pillow. There was a weight on the bed, dipping the mattress down, and there was the sensation of someone leaning over her. </p>
<p>	Then there was the sensation of cool air sliding across her bare legs, her lower back; the blanket pulled off, her shirt pulled up. She shifted, not uncomfortable, just trying to chase the warmth, and then there was more pressing against her mind, another memory (or was it a fantasy?) of being pressed into a wall and kissing the Doctor until she saw stars. The Doctor's lips were hot and wet against her own mouth, and her chest was getting tight from the memory of holding her breath, as a hand skimmed across the sensitive skin of her calf. </p>
<p>	Yaz sighed, half in her own mind, half with her physical body. The hand froze, and she snuggled down into her pillow, as she became more aware of her body slowly, as if someone was turning up a dimmer switch. She was dreaming, only it wasn't exactly dreaming, and the hand on her calf was moving up, towards the back of her thigh. There was the sensation of the bed moving under her, and the feeling in her mind of being stroked some more, the feeling of something in her mind being <i>touched</i>, which was novel. </p>
<p>	Her thoughts were her own - her secret, desperate thoughts. <i>I could share those</i>, she thought, or maybe felt. It was hard to tell the difference, in this dreamy, floating state. She could let the Doctor see any part of her, if the Doctor wanted to.</p>
<p>	Yaz was just sleeping, as the Doctor touched her in all the intimate ways a person could be touched, and other ways besides. She was lying here, and anything that happened would be because the Doctor wanted it. Because the Doctor was the one who was active, was <i>doing</i>, and all Yaz had to do was lie there and take it.</p>
<p>	The idea was strangely shameful, and even in this half-awake state, she shied away from it. Away from the greedy selfishness of just wanting to <i>take</i>, of wanting to -</p>
<p>	The pressure in her mind became a little stronger, and then it was... moving, like a caress. As if the Doctor had felt her own mind beginning to go in circles, and had run her hand over it, the way a person would smooth over a wrinkled bed sheet. </p>
<p>	Yaz hadn't realized that was an option.</p>
<p>	The hand on Yaz's thigh was moving further up. It passed over her backside, then slid along the sensitive skin of her back. There were waves of goosebumps, and Yaz stirred, beginning to wake up a little more.</p>
<p>	"Sh, sh..." The voice seemed to be in two places at once; Yaz's ears, Yaz's mind. She stilled, let the pleasure wash over her. It was almost overwhelming, and her legs were already tensing, her jaw clenching against the softness of her pillow. She was trying to stay still, as she was drawn a little closer towards full wakefulness. </p>
<p>	Goosebumps were breaking out across Yaz's body, starting between her shoulder blades, to move along her back, up her neck. Her scalp was prickling, and she could feel her nipples get hard where they were pressed into the mattress. She was forcing herself to relax, almost as if she was melting into the mattress. She could feel the Doctor movie closer in the real world (the world where her body was? The world she was floating in, half suspended felt real too), and then a second hand was resting on her neck. </p>
<p>	The Doctor’s touch was  cooler than a human’s, and she gave a little squeeze. It reminded her of the way the Doctor’s hand had fit under her chin, the space between the Doctor’s thumb and index finger pressing into her windpipe. It was another spike of heat, and in that safe, dark, floating place, her whole self seemed to get lighter. Her body on the bed became heavier, and she gave a quiet little sigh into the pillow. She was drifting closer to sleep, her nerves alight, her skin alive with tingling and goosebumps. </p>
<p>	The Doctor’s fingers left her neck, and then the Doctor was doing something to… Yaz’s braid? Yaz always tied her hair up before bed, otherwise she woke up to a tangled mess. She was waking up a little more, at the sensation of her hair being unbraided, the pulling on her scalp easing. </p>
<p>	Another memory pulled at her, <i>engulfed</i> her. Or was it a fantasy? It felt real enough to be a memory, but in this time and place it was hard to differentiate the two. Regardless, Yaz could feel it as if it was happening in that very moment; on her knees, her loose hair tangled around the Doctor’s fist, her mouth on the Doctor’s cunt, her mouth wide open, sucking on the Doctor’s labia, sliding her tongue inside of the Doctor. The sensation of licking into the soft wetness, wiry hair pressing against her nose and her chin, the slickness dripping down to her chest. She shuddered all over, and on the bed her cunt clenched around nothing.</p>
<p>	The Doctor’s fingers were combing through her hair, gently scratching her scalp, and the fingers that had been stroking her back had moved… somewhere, she didn’t know. The head rub felt good enough that she was being lulled back into sleep, sinking deep into her own mind again. It was almost like sinking down into warm, breathable water, or being surrounded by light, comforting fabric. She was <i>aware</i> of her arousal, in a distant sort of way, but it was happening a long way off. She was just… lying there, comfortable and safe. </p>
<p>	The hand returned to her back, but the hand that had been scratching her scalp was moving to press a finger to her temple. There was the sensation of sinking down deeper into her own mind, into the warmth and darkness. She could sense the Doctor, even if she couldn’t have known how, or where the Doctor was. It still felt as if she was in the midst of a dream. </p>
<p>	The Doctor’s fingers were moving lower, tracing over the curve of her arse, then the  backs of her thighs. She was wearing thin pajama shorts, and the Doctor’s cool hands were delicate against the sensitive skin. </p>
<p>		The Doctor must have been pressing into some part of her mind, because she was sliding back down into sleep. It just felt <i>good</i>, to let the Doctor touch her, to let herself be lulled into calmness as the Doctor did whatever she wanted. So the Doctor was pushing her deeper into the well of sleep, or maybe just letting her drift. She could certainly be okay with that. The Doctor's hands were on her, the Doctors' mind was against her's, and she was safe in ways that she'd never been safe before. </p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>	Yaz swam up to awareness at the sensation of warm lips on her skin. The Doctor was still in her mind, and the Doctor seemed to be... crouched over her, touching her. She seemed to be aware of different, individual parts of herself, one at a time. As if she was just a collection of parts, and each part was its own self in and of itself. </p>
<p>	There were wet spots on her back, cooling in the air, spots where the Doctor must have kissed her. There was the Doctor's hands on her inner thighs, and at some point her pajama shorts must have been pulled down and off, because she could feel the Doctor's mouth on one of the cheeks of her arse, and then the sensation of suction, the blunt little flash of pain, and then another kiss, a little higher up this time. </p>
<p><i>What if she left marks? I want her to leave marks, I should ask her to leave marks.</i> The images flashed through her mind, of the blooming dark marks across her skin, and the Doctor's mind against her own seemed to be taking it in, like a sponge. <i>I'd let her do anything</i>, she thought, which wasn't a revelation, except for the fact that she'd never let the Doctor see that part of her. The needy, desperate, eager to please part.</p>
<p>	... Apart from every time she looked at the Doctor. She knew she'd never been subtle. </p>
<p>	The Doctor pressed another kiss to the base of her spine, and then she kissed lower, over the cleft of Yaz's arse. It was just gentle enough that Yaz kept drifting, then falling back to herself. She slept and woke, as the Doctor's kisses moved lower, the Doctor's hands kept roaming. They were brushing against her lightly, softly, and they were warmer than the air, but cooler than a human's. </p>
<p>	Yaz floated, supported by the bed. Arousal seemed to be building inside of her, seemed to be filling her up like a glass being overfilled, but she couldn't <i>do</i> anything about it. She just had to lie there and take it, couldn't move too much, or she'd spoil it. She let another wave of sleep roll over her (pushed by the Doctor? She wasn't sure what it was the Doctor was doing to her mind, except that it left her sleepy, relaxed), and the darkness behind her eye seemed to be getting deeper. </p>
<p>	The Doctor's fingers were gentle as they traced along her labia, pushing her lips open. She wondered, faintly, if the Doctor was looking at her like that - a flash of shame, at being seen so vulnerable - and then an image pressed into her mind. Her own back (she recognized her shirt, pushed up, and the birthmark shaped like a misshapen question mark on her shoulder blade), her hair dark and wild around her shoulders, and then the Doctor looking down at her spread legs, at the darker skin of her outer labia to the pinkness when the Doctor spread them open, the way the tips of the Doctor's fingers were dipping inside of her, swirling along her entrance. She wanted to look away, but the image stayed inside of her mind, and then there was the sensation of being <i>filled</i>, and she could see the Doctor pressing into her, all the way up to the base of the finger.</p>
<p>	Yaz sighed in her sleep again, as the image faded, and her mind was blank again, apart from the gentle tug of sleep, like the rock of a boat. The body on the bed (<i>her</i> body on <i>her</i> bed) was getting wetter, and the sounds of the Doctor's fingers in her cunt seemed to be very loud. The sound of her own heartbeat seemed to be very loud, and the rustle of the bedclothes. The TARDIS hummed quietly in the background, and the Doctor's breathing was almost... harsh. The Doctor had added another finger - or was it two? Yaz couldn't tell. She was being filled, she was being <i>used</i>, and she was wet and wanting for it. </p>
<p>	<i>She wouldn’t need to get my permission, she can do this whenever. She can touch me whenever, she can do whatever she wants to me, I want her to want to do things to me and then do them, no matter how depraved, I just want her to want me.</i> </p>
<p>	The sensation of the Doctor’s mind pressing against her own, and then the feeling of the Doctor’s tongue at the cleft of her arse, which nearly pulled her awake. The Doctor’s mind pressed her deeper into sleep, and she was dipping in and out again, as the Doctor’s fingers slowly moved inside of her cunt, and the Doctor’s hand held one of the cheeks of her arse open, hot breath ticklish along the delicate skin inside. She hadn’t ever had someone look at her like that, hadn’t ever had someone touch her this carefully. It was like being in a dream, floating in this warm, dark place as her body did things that she’d never considered before.</p>
<p>	The Doctor’s tongue was tracing along the rim of her arse, and it was some strange combination of hot and cold, the very tip of it probing inside of her. She rose up, fell deeper, and the sleep that was yanking at her limbs left her pinned, as if she was tied down. The Doctor’s fingers were moving inside of her, deep, slow thrusts, and the Doctor’s tongue was moving inside of her as well, and maybe she’d switched them around, because Yaz couldn’t tell what was where, just that she was drowning in it.</p>
<p>	Something was rubbing her clit. She didn't know what it was, because weren’t the Doctor’s fingers all occupied? Or maybe they weren’t, because something was rubbing her clit, something was sending more hot, sweet pleasure through her whole body. She was clenching around the Doctor’s fingers, the Doctor’s tongue, she was shifting, but she was dreaming at the same time. Snatches of a dream, where she was bent over the TARDIS console, the Doctor fucking her like a metronome. She came back to herself, just a little, and the Doctor’s tongue did something <i>especially</i> clever, before she was going under again, and now she was on her dark at the station, as the Doctor licked her and licked her, little pink tongue firm against Yaz’s clit.</p>
<p>	Yaz rose up again, and the Doctor was making some kind of noise, her tongue still inside of Yaz, and one hand was kneading at Yaz’s arse, her fingers moving desperately inside of Yaz. The orgasm was building, but it was a slow, almost <i>lazy</i> orgasm, which made no sense, how could an orgasm be lazy? Yaz kept drifting in her own mind, tangentially aware of the tickle of her own hair on her shoulders, the sweat building up at her armpits and her groin, her own arousal slick and sticky as it drooled down onto the sheets under her. She opened her mind to the Doctor, half delirious with pleasure and foggy with sleep, and she let herself be taken.</p>
<p>	Yaz’s orgasm seemed to come slowly, and she could feel it building. Her cunt clenched tightly around the Doctor’s fingers, the Doctor’s tongue, and then it pulsed. There was a gush of wetness as the pleasure flooded through her, leaving her limp. She was still tingling as the Doctor’s mind nudged against her own, pressed her deeper into sleep, and then she was down for the count.</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>	She woke up a few times that night, surfacing briefly as she was rolled onto her back, when she felt a mouth on her nipple. She slid back down, and she dreamed some more, of being fucked in interesting ways, by aliens, by the Doctor, in exotic locales and her childhood bedroom. She remembered the Doctor’s hot breath on her neck at some point, and the sensation of something thick sliding into her cunt. She remembered lying on her side as fingers traced up and down the thick muscles of her calves, soothing enough that she was lulled back to sleep before she had a chance to think. At some point there were fingers between her toes, and at some other point there was something in her arse, something thicker and heavier that almost hurt, except it also seemed to fit perfectly as it slid in and out of her, slow and filthy. </p>
<p>	She only remembered snatches of it the next morning - she’d have thought it was <i>all</i> a dream, if not for the lingering soreness of her cunt, her arse. There were a few hickeys on her breasts, and her nipples were swollen and tender. </p>
<p>	“Well,” she said to her empty room, “you sure had your fun.” She pressed her thighs together, catching glimpses of the memories, and she bit her lip, and slid her hand between her legs to press down on her aching vulva. She held the memory of the Doctor’s fingers inside of her, the Doctor’s mind against her own, and she ground the heel of her hand against her sore, overstimulated clit. </p>
<p>	She’d have to grill the Doctor for information, once she’d gotten off… again.</p>
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